Now Here's A Fine Bloody Mess You've Got Me Into
by Darkclarkson
Summary: After the battle at the Ministry, Harry withdraws from his friends, trying to isolate himself. However, two chance encounters set him off on an adventure he never dreamed of. AWAITING UPDATE!
1. Talk Tonight

Welcome, my friends. To Isengard!

Hang on, wrong franchise. Sorry about that.

So welcome to the epic, or rather epic-to-be that is Now Here's A Fine Bloody Mess You've Got Me Into. Set following the evnts of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, it follows Harry as he cuts himself off, only to be drawn back by the arrival of none other than Edmund Blackadder and his dogsbody Baldrick. What follows is generally quite violent and humourous to boot.

I would like to thank my Beta Reader, Cyanide-Princess-666, for her sterling work in helping with this piece of writing.

So, let's finish with the formalities, and get ready for the begining of an adventure unlike any other in the world, or at least on this website.

The Disclaimer: I don't own Blackadder or Harry Potter: that's the BBC and JK Rowling instead.

So, with a ying and a yang and a yipperty do, let's start!

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><p>It was the end of a cold and chilly day in Little Whinging. Despite it being the last week of July, an almost unnatural mist had swept through the county and the country and stayed like that. Temperatures at night were at a record low point, whilst during the day, the sun struggled to break through the almost infinite layer of cloud. The Met Office had no explanation as to how the abnormal weather had come about and, indeed, several leading figures had resigned and gone into early retirement to avoid the hate mail that had been sent to them over their inaccurate predictions.<p>

Of course, only those who were acquainted with magic knew the significance of the unusual weather. Harry Potter had come to associate these conditions with Dementors and so, upon learning that they had officially deserted their posts as guards of the wizarding prison Azkaban, he knew what the cause of the mist was. Therefore, he had locked himself in his room voluntarily, ignored his remaining relatives (who, likewise, were also ignoring him) and instead, focused on channelling his rage, grief and anger.

On the outside, to his friends and teachers, Harry had seemingly coped well with the death of his godfather. He had left the Ministry and had not once cried, or emotionally broken down in any capacity. He was, to all intents and purposes, just an average teenage boy. But deep down inside, as the end of the school year approached, Harry knew that his facade was beginning to crack. The moment he had got back to Privet Drive, it had; he had gone up to his room, with his trunk and Hedwig in her cage, set them down, locked his door, shut his curtains and cried silently into his pillow for over two and a half hours. Then, he had gotten up, walked to the bathroom, taken a shower, got changed for bed and had fallen asleep immediately as he had lain down.

That had been two weeks ago, and since that day, Harry's life had fallen into an almost ritualistic set-up. He would wake, shower, leave the house, walk into the centre of Little Whinging and back, grab a snack when the Dursleys weren't looking, before departing back to his room. Once there, he would lock himself in and simply lie on his bed, trying to constrain his grief and hold back the tears. Most times, when he closed his eyes, images of Sirius, smiling and happy, would swim in his vision and he would once again silently sob until he could no more. Then, as the evening drew nearer, he would let himself out for another snack, go to the bathroom, get ready for bed and generally fall asleep as he laid there, staring vacantly at the ceiling. His life had passed like that for the fourteen days since he had returned, without any deviation. He made no attempt to talk to his uncle, aunt or cousin, or anyone he encountered whilst he was out walking. Once or twice, he would have sworn that someone had been following him, or that another person across the road was staring fixedly at him, but then he remembered that it was probably members of the Order still keeping him under observation on Dumbledore's orders.

Dumbledore.

The name had a new meaning to it for Harry. For the five years of his life he had spent as a wizard, Harry had always seen Dumbledore as a grandfather figure, the sort who could be stern when he wanted to, but never really meant it. Then, that image had started to slowly disintegrate, beginning with the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had seen Dumbledore for the first time when he had been angry; he had seen the lack of a twinkle behind the man's half moon spectacles, and Harry had realized that the man was not to be trifled with. He had gained a new level of respect for the man there and then as he had born down upon the fake Moody imposter, along with, for the first time, a slight feeling of fear.

Then, Dumbledore's name had taken on another new meaning only two months after the events that transpired in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. Harry had been unable to correspond with any of his friends, who kept on dropping the occasional tantalising hint; apart from that, he had had no outside contact. Then, out of the blue, he had encountered a pair of Dementors and his life had suddenly exploded into action again. He had learnt that he was being trailed by a secret group dedicated to defeating Voldermort, who also seemed to spend a lot of their time trailing him as much as they trailed alleged Death Eaters. Upon his arrival at Grimuald Place after he had been escorted by an almost militaristic battle-hardened veteran (Harry had found out that the fake Moody had been a very convincing imposter), Harry had blown a fuse with his friends; Hermione had burst into tears and Ron had almost hidden in the broom cupboard. However, after some more explanation, he had learnt that Dumbledore had been pulling strings in the background, purposely keeping him in the dark. He had managed to force his way into learning more information, and armed with this, was not only more clued up on Voldermort's potential threat nationwide, but also the motives of his headmaster. Harry had thought for a long time that Dumbledore was hiding something from him, but it hadn't been until he had nearly been killed at the Ministry that he had discovered what it was. If he had not been so overcome with rage at the time, Harry would have been amazed by Dumbledore's battle skills against Voldermort, for someone who was born in the nineteenth century. However, in the almost immediate aftermath, the revelations that Harry had half-expected had come out into the open; that he was at the centre of a fabled prophecy that would decide the fate of the Wizarding World. Harry's instantaneous reaction had been to smash a lot of Dumbledore's belongings, in response to Sirius, but in retrospect, Harry had realized that he probably could have smashed some more in his own name, as he almost certainly had a death sentence upon him. Harry knew that it wasn't Dumbledore's fault about the actual prophecy, but the fact that it had not been relayed to him, the person to whom it may concern the most, left a bitter taste in his mouth, and upon the name Dumbledore. He didn't want Dumbledore as an enemy but he didn't want to play second fiddle to him anymore.

Harry sighed and hauled himself out of his bed. He stood up straight and stretched his rams, yawning. He looked at the clock; it was almost ten minutes to nine in the evening. He went over to the window and opened it, looking out, trying to find Hedwig. Unfortunately for Harry, the heavy mist prevented him from finding Hedwig, so he gave up and simply left the window open for when she returned. He picked up his pyjamas and unlocked his door, walking across to the bathroom. He pushed the door open, and slipped inside, upon where he locked it, and hung his pyjamas on the back hook.

He turned and inspected himself in the bathroom mirror. Due to his sudden growth spurt and his lack of a diet, which for once, was by choice, Harry was incredibly skinny, even by his own standards. His skin hung slightly off his bones and he looked unhealthily thin. His face and skin complexion was paler than usual, and even his brilliant green eyes seemed dulled; by sharp contrast, his raven-coloured hair still remained stuck up at odd angles and his scar stood out, a raw, jagged red mark across his forehead. His hand almost instinctively reached up to try and brush some of his hair to one side in order to cover it, but it stubbornly refused to budge and he gave up. He stripped off and turned on the shower. Usually, he would gasp as he stepped into the icy stream before the water began to heat up, but he was used to it by now, and did not even flinch as it hit his body.

He stood in the shower for ten minutes before he even started to wash himself. Once done, he stepped out and dried himself off with the nearest towel to hand, before he slipped into his pyjamas. He hung the towel back over the rail and grabbed a hand towel to try and dry his hair with; despite being wet, it still stuck up awkwardly, as if it was trying to make a point. The thought of his hair leading a life of its own made Harry smile slightly for the first time in days, but it quickly vanished as he reached the foot of the stairs. He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was sitting at the table reading a magazine. She looked up at Harry, but did not show any sign of recognition; Harry did not return any either. He simply walked round the table and took a banana from the fruit bowl. Then, he opened the cupboard and took out a plastic tumbler which he filled with water from the kitchen tap. The water was lukewarm but Harry was not fussed by it; he downed the drink in one, but kept the tumbler with him so he could fill it up again when he went upstairs. He walked back round the table, glanced at Petunia who was looking at her magazine with an expression of concentration, then exited again.

He was walking down the hallway, when the front door opened and Dudley stepped in. Dudley was still large for his age, but his continuing interest in boxing had made a positive effect on his physical image; what had once been excess flesh was now a balanced mix of fat and muscle. Harry had to admit that he had done a double-take when he had seen Dudley's muscles on the platform at Kings Cross. Dudley shrugged off his coat and hung it up. He looked at Harry expressionlessly, before standing to one side to let Harry past. The first time this had happened, Harry had very nearly fainted, but with Dudley's new look had come an increased sense of maturity; Harry presumed that Dudley still remembered the Dementors. He walked past Dudley, nodding to him as he went, and began to climb up the stairs towards his room, when he was suddenly struck by a sudden urge. Deciding to act on impulse, Harry quickly made his way to his room, where he set down the tumbler and searched around under his bed for his trainers. He grabbed a pair of socks and put them on before he jammed his trainers onto his feet. He grabbed a crumpled sweater from the end of his bed and pulled it on over his head to keep his arms warm. Then, he left his room, pulling the door to. He walked back down the stairs quietly, fearful that Uncle Vernon may finally break his silence with him, but that was something that didn't really worry Harry. He unchained the front door, opened it, and quietly slipped out into the cold night, shutting it behind him. He shivered slightly and watched as his breath turned to icy mist in front of him. He wrapped his arms around him and set off round the side of the house, towards the back garden. As he had hoped and expected, he heard the almost miniscule sounds of muffled footsteps behind him. He quickened his pace slightly and turned the corner into the back garden. He walked over to a summer bench that sat in a corner, next to the neatly manicured hedgerows and tall wooden fences. He sat down on it and looked straight ahead. He heard a soft intake of breath and the footsteps stopped; Harry guessed that whoever was under the Invisibility Cloak feared that they had been discovered. Harry quickly glanced at the conservatory windows; the curtains were shut, and Uncle Vernon had locked the doors for the night. He looked back at where the figure was standing still. He flexed his fingers and waited.

A minute passed and nothing happened. Then, very quietly, he heard the figure begin to back slowly away, the crunch of their feet on frosted grass. That was Harry's cue. His reflexes gained through Quidditch meant that he could hear and see things that were almost unnoticeable. Like a tiger about to strike its prey, Harry pushed himself off the bench and, arms outstretched, flew into the retreating figure and tackled them to the ground. It felt unusual, holding onto something invisible, but Harry was reassured when a voice started shouting. He found what he thought felt like the arms, and pinned them down.

"Hey, get off me!"

It was a woman's voice, and although it sounded older, Harry could hazard a guess as to who it was he had attacked. He smirked.

"Nymphadora," he said, releasing his grip and standing up. "What a pleasure to see you. Well, I actually can't see you, so…"

He bent down and tugged the Invisibility Cloak away to reveal a rather dishevelled Nymphadora Tonks. She looked up at him from her rather undignified position on the floor. Her hair was dark mousey-brown and hung down to her shoulders; she was dressed quite casually in Muggle clothing, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a large travelling cloak fastened round her neck. She was wearing an annoyed expression.

"Firstly, Harry, don't call me that," she said menacingly. "Secondly, why did you attack me?"

Harry shrugged and offered his hand. She grasped it and he helped her back onto her feet. It was when she was standing fully that Harry realized he had grown over the holidays; he was now the same height as the witch in front of him.

"No reason," he said. "Other than I wanted to talk to someone who likes me."

She looked at him, surprised. "Why didn't you send Hedwig to Ron and Hermione?"

Harry shrugged again. "Because neither of them would be able to get here. I actually wanted to talk face-to-face with someone, and I knew, from the way I've been trailed, that there would be an Order member here tonight. I was hoping it would be you or Remus."

Harry noticed that Tonks seemed to tense up slightly at the mention of his former professor's name, as if it pained her to hear it. He looked at her quizzically, but she had relaxed again.

"Are you alright, Tonks?" he asked concernedly.

"Huh? What?" She looked at Harry. "Yeah, I'm fine Harry. Why do you ask?"

"You just froze when I mentioned Remus," Harry said quietly; he saw that the name had the same effect on Tonks again.

"Did I?" said Tonks, trying to sound casually off-hand about, but Harry could see in the moonlight that her eyes seemed to be watering slightly. "You're really skinny again Harry, have your relatives not been feeding you?"

"Personal preference, but don't try to change the subject," said Harry, still starring concernedly at Tonks. "I've only spoken a handful of words over the last few weeks Tonks, most of them tonight. So if you would answer my question, I would be much obliged. Has something happened to him?"

Tonks stood still for a minute, looking at Harry. Then, she shook her head.

"Then what is it?" asked Harry, who was no slightly confused. Tonks' eyes darted around until she found the bench.

"Do you mind if we sit down, Harry?" she asked; it sounded in the silence of the night as if her voice was straining. Harry nodded and the two walked over to the bench, where they sat down. Harry noticed that Tonks seemed to be shifting uncomfortably as if she was thinking what it would be best to say to him. Eventually, she spoke.

"You may not have known this Harry, due to… Sirius," she spoke quietly; Harry could tell that her voice was beginning to break. "But for the past four months, Remus and I have been dating."

Harry started in surprise. It certainly was news to him that Tonks and Lupin had been dating. Hell, it was news to him that they even liked each other.

"I didn't," he commented. "Congratulations!"

It was as this point that Tonks looked at him and silently burst into tears. She hid her face in her hands and started shaking violently. Harry was shocked by this and he quickly slid up the bench towards her and put a comforting arm over her shoulder.

"Calm down Tonks," he said, holding her and she stopped shaking, although she was still letting loose the occasional sob. "What happened?"

Tonks looked at him through watery eyes and gave a slight smile. "We split up. Bit silly, really."

Harry was also surprised by this. No sooner had he learnt that Tonks and Lupin were dating, he had learnt that they had split up. He felt guilty for having made Tonks cry.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Sorry to have brought it up."

"There's no need to be sorry Harry," muttered Tonks, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeves. She reached an arm round over Harry's shoulder and pulled him closer. "You were bound to find out at some point. Anyway, he split up with me and didn't give a reason, which hurt me. Not physically but emotionally. Since then, I volunteered for permanent guard duty and generally spend most of my time watching you or someone else that's important..."

She lapsed into a silence again and instead tightened her grip on Harry. He glanced to his left shoulder where her hand was resting, before he turned to face her; she was starring into her lap.

"I'm sorry about that Tonks," he said softly. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

She looked at him and gave another watery smile. "Thanks Harry, I appreciate that."

He smiled back at her. "It's fine, don't worry. Anytime."

She looked him up and down on the bench, and then spoke again, slightly worried. "What did you mean when it was your personal preference to become so thin? You look ill, Harry, and I'm trying not to sound like Molly."

Harry gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, it's my own choice. Since I got back, I haven't spoken to anyone inside the house, and no-one has spoken to me. I like it that way. But it means that I keep on being left alone with my thoughts and..." He struggled to get the last word out. "Sirius."

Tonks nodded. "You seemed to be coping really well in the aftermath. After what happened..." She trailed off again, but then spoke, her voice strained again. "I suppose I should be the one owing you an apology after what happened, Harry."

"Eh?" asked Harry; he felt confused.

"If I hadn't got beat by Bellatrix, then Sirius wouldn't have had to..." she stopped again, and looked on the verge of breaking into tears again. She wasn't the only one; now they had breached the topic of Sirius' death and apportioning the blame, Harry felt both guilt at the part he had played and upset at the loss of his godfather. He tried to fight them back, but they leaked from his eyes and trickled down his face, hot and salty. Tonks looked briefly shocked, and then upset and she began to sob as well.

"Oh Harry, I'm, sorry, I-"

"Tonks, don't," said Harry; his voice was shaking but still surprisingly strong. "It was no more your fault than anyone else's that Sirius died, including mine. So I don't want an apology, and I don't want an argument." He looked at her face, a mingled expression of grief and surprise upon her delicate features. "What happened at the Ministry was a shambles for everyone. Me, Voldermort, my friends, Dumbledore, the ministry, the Order, you. It was nobody's fault that it all went so pear-shaped. So no apologies. Please."

She sniffled. "Are you sure?" she said, still sobbing slightly.

"Positive. What I'd really like right now is a warm hug," he said with a small smile. She gave a weak chuckle and turned, putting her right arm around his back to link with her left, holding him tight. He did the same with his free arm and embraced her too. They sat together, wrapped in a tight embrace, on a frosty bench, for what could have been hours to them, both sobbing quietly into the other's shoulder and offering words of encouragement. After some time, they broke away and starred at each other, their faces bathed in the pale moonlight.

"That was good," commented Harry in an off-hand sort of way. Tonks gave a giggle at his commented and nodded.

"Agreed. I could do it again, except I think that they best way for you to warm up is to go inside and get into bed. I'll be across the street with a thermos delivered by Mundungus hopefully."

"Wouldn't trust what he's put in there," mumbled Harry, and Tonks laughed.

"Nor would I. I always take it, empty it in the nearest bush and conjure up something nicer."

"What's the poor bush done to deserve that?" asked Harry, in mock indignation.

"Nothing, it's just the most convenient thing nearby."

"Ah." They looked up towards the sky; the mist created by the Dementors had cleared and a star-spangled curtain of black hung above them, with the moon a vast, white hemisphere, hovering off to one side. Somewhere overhead, they could see the red lights of an aeroplane as it flew towards London, flashing off and on at intervals.

"Harry?" asked Tonks quite suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Is it true what the prophecy is actually about?"

"Yes," said Harry; he saw no reason to deny the fact that according to the prophecy he had to kill or be killed by Voldermort. He heard Tonks gasp again slightly and he looked at her.

"That's something I don't feel," he continued softly. "Fear. Now that Sirius is gone, I've lost that last link he can use to torture me with. It's just me and him now, no more pawns. I should be terrified, yet I feel calm. If anything, he's probably more worried than me because of the fact that I don't fear him anymore."

She looked at him intently then nodded and hugged closer to him.

"Y'know, I feel a lot better now that I've got Remus off my chest," she said quietly. "I feel more positive. Happy, even. I suppose that sometimes, speaking about it helps, doesn't it?"

Harry thought for a moment, and found to his surprise, that he was feeling exactly what Tonks was describing. Now that he had aired it in the open, he didn't really feel as much grief for Sirius. It still hurt, but it was as if someone had lit a fire in Harry that kept away negative thoughts.

"Yeah," he replied. "It does."

A flock of white birds flew overhead; one broke off and flew down towards the two. Even in the semi-darkness, Harry could tell from the colour and outline that it was Hedwig returning from her evening flight. He held out his arm and she landed softly.

"And what time do you call this?" he asked her; she gave a quiet hoot and a sort of shrug before flying off and through the open window above. Harry watched her go, and then sighed.

"That's probably her signal telling me to get back to my room and get some sleep," he said, turning back to face Tonks. "She may be late, but if I'm still awake when she's back, it's unacceptable to her. I think she gets some satisfaction from tapping my on the head so she can get back in her cage."

"I can't blame her," said Tonks, looking at her watch. "It's nearly midnight already. We've been out here longer than I thought, Mundungus'll be going spare across the road, unless he's still out drinking."

Harry laughed and stood up, lowering his hand again to Tonks who took it and got up too.

"Well, thanks for staying and chatting Tonks. Sorry and everything about-"

"No, Harry," said Tonks, giving a tired smile; it suited her better than sobbing to say the least. "If I'm not allowed to say sorry, nor are you." She looked up at his window. "How are you getting back in?"

"Huh?" Harry looked up at his open window again. "I suppose I was going to go in through the front door."

"Harry, I wouldn't want to take your chances with your uncle's vow of silence at this time of night. Come along, take my hand."

Harry looked at Tonks' proffered hand and he gingerly took a grasp of it.

"Harder, otherwise you won't make it." He held it more firmly and moved nearer.

"What are you-"

The answer became very apparent to Harry, as he suddenly felt like he was being put under intense pressure; he was being squeezed from all sides, his lungs were being compressed, his eyes rolling, his senses collapsing all around him-

As quickly as it had started, it was over. Harry gasped and opened his eyes; he was standing in his room, still clutching Tonks' hand.

"Side-along apparition?" he asked, massaging his chest.

"Side-along apparition, yes." She was looking at him concernedly again. "Are you alright Harry?"

"I'm fine, just a bit... in pain."

"Yeah, it has that effect. To be honest, I'm not really a big fan of it, but I had to be an expert at it for Auror training. Give me a broom, or Muggle transport any day. That's how I get to my shifts; I catch the train from my apartment."

"You have an apartment?" asked Harry, surprised; he thought that Tonks would have been living with Lupin, and before, at her parents.

"Well, I say apartment, it's more of a flat in a Muggle estate. One of Kingsley's hideouts. I'm leaving it anyway and going to live someplace else soon, so until I know where, I'll be catching the good old British public transport system."

Harry snorted at Tonks' description. "Not from where I come from. The buses are horrendous."

"Yeah, I have noticed that. But the trains are surprisingly good."

Harry gave a nod. "I can't really comment on them to be honest, the only train I ever catch is the Hogwarts Express."

He looked around his room. "Er, sorry about the mess, I suppose."

Tonks just shrugged. "No worse than me Harry. You know I love it like this."

He nodded. There was an almost embarrassed silence between the two which hung as they stared intently at each other. It was eventually broken when Hedwig, from her perch on Harry's headboard, clicked her beak indignantly, her round amber eyes fixed upon the pair. They both started and looked around until they found the source of the noise.

"Yeah, so, I think I best go back across the road," said Tonks as she turned away from looking at Hedwig; Harry sensed almost an air of reluctance about her. "Thanks Harry."

"The same to you," said Harry and he reached over to give her a friendly hug, much softer than the one they had shared in the cold outside. "Take care and I'll see you later."

She nodded and with a faint pop, she disapparated away. Harry let out a small sigh; he suddenly felt quite alone again. Then, he smiled. He couldn't deny that he had enjoyed seeing Tonks even if they pair of them had spent much time crying. There just seemed to be something about her that Harry couldn't quite place...

A sharp clicking noise told him that Hedwig was threatening to start hacking the headboard to pieces if she wasn't put to rest. Harry walked over to the cage and unlocked its door before turning to Hedwig. She gracefully unfolded her wings, took off, performed a single flap, tucked them behind and glided smoothly into her cage. She looked more appraisingly at Harry before shutting her eyes and nestling her head own in her feathers. Harry locked at his beautiful white snowy owl and was strangely reminded of Tonks, her tear-stained face lit up by the bright moonlight earlier that night. He took off his trainers, removed his glasses and got into his bed. He fell asleep shortly after, his dreams filled for the first time in months with pleasant, bright and wonderful things.

Little did Harry know that his conversation with Tonks would kick-start his recovery. The following day, he would exercise but eat large meals of meat and fish for his lunch and dinner respectively whilst he was out. He would not think about Sirius and instead focused on training and returning his body back to working condition. And for what was to come, this was the smartest move that Harry Potter could have ever taken.

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><p>AN: Yes, I know what you're thinking. There was not the slightest touch of Blackadder in that chapter. Well, if its a compromise, the next chapter will feature much more Blackadder and Baldrick; I'm still deciding which modern day incarnations of characters I can add into the story at the moment, but expect a healthy dose of favourites. So, please read an review, and stay tuned for more action!


	2. One Way Road

Hello! I'm back!

So sorry about this; I started suffering writer's block after one chapter, and felt stuck, so I buggered off to write my next epic, Within Shadow Is Light. That looks set to actually be longer than this and finished first, to which I feel guilt over pushing this story to one side. So I now intend to make an effort to continue this story.

A little clue for the introduction of a Blackadder character; the actor/actress who portrayed them have also been involved in the Harry Potter series. If anyone feels like providing me with an answer, please put it in a review. On the subject of reviews, please give! Writers like myself can't get better without your opinions!

Disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or Harry Potter; they belong to the BBC and JK Rowling.

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><p>Edmund Blackadder shivered slightly and turned the collar of his long black trench coat up to protect his exposed neck. Despite it being July, the weather had seemingly taken a turn for the worse all over the country. The mist was not helping to give credit to the government's stance that global warming was going to fry them, as most MPs were preaching that the population of Britain would be slowly cooked. Their theory was falling apart spectacularly, and Blackadder was pretty sure that the opposition, led by that youthful and virile man Tony Blair, would have gained power by the next General Election.<p>

Blackadder, wrapped in cold mist and sharp wind, was standing on a deserted railway platform in a small village named Pannal, somewhere in Yorkshire. Well, when he said deserted, Baldrick was sitting on a bench some ten feet away, but Blackadder had never really counted dogsbodies as being there. Rather, they were there when you wanted to be, and other times, were simply part of the furniture. The two had dressed for cold weather, and although Blackadder had scoffed at Baldrick's notions that, after three record summers, the temperature would be below eleven degrees Celsius, he was secretly glad that for once, he had paid attention to the man. He was dressed in a long sleeved black shirt and brown slacks that fell to just below the top of his black boots. He wore a long trench coat which he usually liked to have unfastened so that it would blow in the background and ripple, to give a sinister effect, but the mist had forced him to fasten it up to his chin and turn the collar up. Baldrick, on the other hand, was wearing three shirts, two fleeces and a large duffle coat, giving the impression that he was a rather fat man, if it hadn't had been for the small head in contrast that poked out of the bundle of clothing. Baldrick was sitting on the bench drumming his fingers together and whistling a rather annoying tune, although, due to the wind, Blackadder could hardly make it out, something for which he was grateful as Baldrick was about as tuneful as an antelope that was being slowly castrated.

As he waited and occasionally squinted through the mists for the sight of an oncoming train, Blackadder buried his hands deeper inside his pockets and mused. When he had woken up the previous morning, he had been leading a perfectly normal life, living in his stately manor with his dogsbody to wait on him. But a newspaper article had finally cracked his resolve not to show guilt. Guilt was something no Blackadder would ever feel, but Edmund had broken the code by allowing it to take him by the scruff of the neck and mercilessly beat him until he sorted it out.

It had all started with the Sunday bloody Times.

000

"The papers have arrived, sir," called Baldrick from the hallway. In the large, expansive dining hall of his manor, Edmund Blackadder finished off the last mouthful of poached egg and set his knife and fork down on the table. Whilst his ancestors may have been as good as cooking as a blind mongoose, his current dogsbody had an unusual knack for it. But then, his current dogsbody was also smarter than all of his ancestors. Blackadder had sent him to night school to be safe.

"Could you bring it through for me Baldrick?" he called back as he wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. He set it down on top of the plate and watched as it soaked up the juices that still remained on his plate. He turned his head to the door as Baldrick, dressed in a black shirt and matching trousers, walked in, carrying a tray in one hand with several rolled-up newspapers lying on top. He set it down next to Blackadder and removed them individually.

"Which one would you like to read first then, sir?" asked Baldrick as he moved the tray away. "The tabloids or the broadsheets?"

"I think I'll start with a tabloid please, Baldrick. The News of the World if you will."

"Certainly, sir." Baldrick picked up the corresponding newspaper and unfurled it from its scroll before passing it to Blackadder who took it and immediately flipped to the sports page.

"That's all for now Baldrick. Clear away these plates if you will and make a fresh pot of coffee. Strong, the way I like it."

As Baldrick left the room, he gave a quick glance at the football results, before he briefed through reading the various headlines, all of which were about the divorce between two members of the Royal Family. As Blackadder was an OBE for services to charity or something (he couldn't remember what he had actually done to receive it) and had been to a Buckingham Palace garden party, he wondered if he should care more about the sordid affairs of the Royal Family, but decided against it. Instead he set the paper down and reached across to take the Sunday Times.

The headlines were much the same, including mentions of pressure on the current Prime Minister by his own Cabinet, and that a foreign country was attempting to negotiate with another to avoid a potential war. Blackadder sighed and turned the page over.

His eyes scanned over the headline of the next story without much interest, but as he glanced down at the picture, he suddenly froze.

Sitting in the middle of the page was a photograph of a man. Although the photograph was black and white, Blackadder could see that the skin was indeed extremely pale. The man's hair and beard were matted and stained in places, and hung past his head, down to his shoulders, in an almost lifeless fashion, yet seemed to be wild and untamed. The photograph extended to only just beyond the neckline, but the man appeared to be wearing a ragged dull grey robe that was torn and frayed around the edges. The eyes were gaunt and sunken, reflecting the flash of the camera in them, portraying a slight flicker of being. But nothing more.

Blackadder knew the man. He knew him very well.

Sirius Black.

Slowly, his eyes travelled back towards the headline at the top of the page where his fears were confirmed.

BLACK IS WHITE: MASS MURDERER KILLED IN POLICE STANDOFF

He glanced down and began to slowly read the article.

"_Late last night, Scotland Yard confirmed that the killer Sirius Black was shot dead by police in Whitehall. Black, who has been on the run for almost three years, was spotted on CCTV near the Ministry of Defence, was killed after a brief exchange of gunfire with officers. Although multiple accomplices were present at the scene, all escaped whilst Black fought officers off with firearms. After a struggle, he was shot three times, once in the face, and died as a result of wounds sustained one hour later. The Met..._"

Blackadder set the paper down before he read anymore. He stared blankly into space, down the table towards him as the news sank in.

Sirius Black was dead.

Blackadder had always suspected that Sirius had never been guilty of the murder of Peter Pettigrew, or that he had been a staunch supporter of the Dark Lord Voldermort. Sirius had often spoken out against Voldermort; he'd been in the Order of The Phoenix. And he had always been friends with James and Peter. The idea that he would sell either out had never occurred to Blackadder, and as a result he had never entertained the notion that he was in fact the enemy.

He remembered Sirius' trial; it had been all over the Prophet like a rash. It had been more or less a kangaroo court led by Crouch, attempting to discern those who were lying and those who were telling the truth, pleasant or not. He had stood in the gallery next to Remus Lupin and watched as Black had been taken away sullenly by the Dementors. He had felt an enormous amount of guilt that he hadn't intervened there and then, taken matters into his own hands...

"Sir?"

Blackadder jerked upwards like an electric shock had passed through him. He quickly regained his composure and turned to Baldrick who was looking at him with a frown.

"You just completely zoned out there sir. Something wrong?" he asked. Blackadder looked him in the eye, and then stood from his chair.

"Baldrick, as much as I hate to admit it, guilt has crept over the threshold of this house."

"Guilt?" asked Baldrick, confusedly. "Do fish have those?"

Blackadder reached over, grabbed a rolled-up newspaper and hit Baldrick over the head with it.

"Guilt, not gills. As in the feeling that you have done something wrong. Very wrong indeed." He set the newspaper down and walked towards the door. He turned as he reached it and beckoned Baldrick with his finger.

"Bring the third page of the Sunday Times with you Baldrick. Just rip it out."

Baldrick complied and pulled the corresponding page out.

"Walk with me Baldrick. We have to decide something."

The two walked down the hallway towards the front door, but instead adjourned into the main room, where Blackadder sat himself down on a large hand-embroided sofa. He indicated a smaller model across than him.

"A rare treat Baldrick. I am allowing you to sit down."

"Thank you sir!" said Baldrick, surprised, wondering where this sudden bout of generosity had emerged form. He sat down and looked at Blackadder.

"Baldrick, do you remember why we left the Wizarding World?"

"The Wizarding World?" said Baldrick, who was even more surprised. "But I thought you said never to mention-"

"I know what I said, Baldrick," said Blackadder, cutting across him with a wave of his hand. "But please just answer the question."

"So you wouldn't have to face the shame and the pain, sir," said Baldrick, eyeing his master carefully. "So you didn't have to handle the pain."

"Indeed, Baldrick," said Blackadder, sighing. He felt his eyes beginning to slightly water and a feeling of depressing anguish beginning to close in on him; he hadn't felt this way in nearly fifteen years. "I left the Wizarding World because I thought that I could bury the past. I thought I could leave behind the memories. But, things have just taken a turn for the worse. Read, if you please."

There was silence for a minute as Baldrick read the newspaper page. When he had finished, he folded it at an odd angle and set it down on the coffee table between the sofas.

"Sirius is dead," he repeated in an emotionless voice. "They shot him."

"Baldrick, I highly doubt that Sirius was shot by Muggles" said Blackadder who had taken the moment to bury his feelings even deeper. "But you grasp the general idea. Sirius Black is indeed dead and that leaves one Marauder left. Namely, the werewolf Remus Lupin."

"What about you?" asked Baldrick. "Aren't you a marauder yourself?"

"Only unofficially. I didn't start hanging out with them until fifth year, if you remember Baldrick. I believe you struck up quite a friendship with Peter."

Blackadder paused as he studied Baldrick. The man had kept up a facade nearly as good as himself, but at the mention of Peter, his left eye seemed to be twitching, as if he was about cry. Blackadder felt the guilt bubbling up again, so he quickly decided to change tactics.

"As a result of Sirius' death however, all the memories we had left behind after his trial have returned to me. I feel, with only Moony left, the time is ripe for re-entry."

"Re-entry?"

"Tell me Baldrick," said Blackadder, keeping his fingers crossed that for once, his dogsbody had not followed his orders. "When I asked you to destroy our wands, did you do so?"

Baldrick gave a small grin. "I have them in the scullery, Mr. B."

Despite his guilt, Blackadder felt a small smile creep onto his face. "Then we are in luck. Return with the wands, Baldrick, and we shall plan. It is time for the House of Blackadder to return to the Wizarding World."

He watched as Baldrick quickly left the room to retrieve the wands. Blackadder had often found ways to counterbalance his emotion and a sudden idea had struck him at the dinner table. If Sirius was now gone, and so too were James and Peter, then the best thing he could do was to honour their memory and give their remaining friends their best chance against Voldermort.

It struck Blackadder as he stood up that the mist had been caused by Dementors and he congratulated himself on taking longer than Baldrick usually would have to work out the fact. He strode over to a wicker basket that was fastened with a large leather strap in the corner of the room. He unfastened it and reached inside, digging past the takeaway menus and tax papers he had never bothered to complete before he found what he was looking for. He pulled out the frame and blew the dust of the picture.

Unlike the static shot in the newspaper, this was a proper wizarding picture, with all of the occupants happily waving and smiling at the camera. Blackadder counted eight of them in total. He remembered having that perm. And the moustache too. Baldrick also had a growth of stubble on the picture, as did Sirius. Peter and Remus were both smiling, unaware of what was about to transpire in their lives. James was grinning goofily at the camera, whilst Lily looked radiant, her red smile and emerald-green eyes the focus of her features.

Yet it was the smallest occupant, wrapped in Lily's arms that drew Blackadder's attention. There, dazed and confused, yet looking around excitedly, was the eight month old child. It had tufts of jet black hair, round rose cheeks and emerald green eyes. Yet what drew Blackadder's eyes was the most normal o things on the boy; a clean, unmarked forehead. He felt a slight trickle of guilt at seeing them all there and how him, the smartest and most cunning, had been unable to see how it could have all unravelled so fast.

The sound of footsteps roused him from his concentration and he turned, still clutching the frame in front of him, as Baldrick re-entered the room, holding a blue velvet case in his left hand and a scruffy wooden box in the other. He passed the velvet one over to Blackadder and started on the lid of his own; the unused hinges groaned as he prised it open. Inside it, against one side, laid a wand. It was roughly a foot in length, and had a strange knot carved into it, where the wood appeared to be distorted. Baldrick picked it up and at once, light green sparks emitted from the tip. He grinned at it and then at Blackadder.

"It feels so great, sir. To be reunited."

Blackadder nodded as he gently removed the lid of his own case. On the inside, lying on a silk, light blue cushion, was his own wand. It was thin and arrow straight, with a small hook that prevented the fingers of the bearer from sliding down the sleek frame. Blackadder took hold of it and felt a familiar warmth spread through him, a warm he had not felt for over fifteen years. He smiled and returned Baldrick's gaze.

"Cherry and dragon heartstring, eleven and a quarter inches, intense," he said and grinned. "I can still remember what Ollivander said to me. Can you?"

"Willow and angelwing, thirteen inches, excellent for combination," said Baldrick, saying the words as if he had repeated them a hundred times before; Blackadder guess that he probably had. Whilst he had been able to bury the past up until now, Baldrick had never been able to let go of that glimmer of hope, that dream of another world. Now, it was about to become his reality once more.

"Baldrick, I know that you like to believe that you have the most cunning plans in this house, but this time, I have the cunning plan. A cunning plan so cunning that it would've been able to blow down the house made of bricks as well as the house made of straw and the house made of sticks. It'd use dynamite. Now, this is what we are going to do. We are going to return to the Wizarding World. The end of our self-imposed exile, if you like. Upon our arrival, we have three missions."

"Which are, sir?"

"Mission one: we catch up with every event that we can. I suggest going to the Daily Prophet headquarters and asking to study their yearly issues that cover all the major and important topics. We can do deeper reading if needed. Follow?"

"Following, sir."

"Good. Mission two: we find Remus Lupin. I don't know where he is or what he is doing, but we need to find him and tell him he's back. But neither of those is as important as our third mission."

"Which is?"

"Mission three: we find Harry James Potter."

Baldrick raised an eyebrow.

"That mission is of the utmost importance, Baldrick. We have to find Harry. Somehow, I doubt that his uncle will have told him he's a wizard. And if by the off chance he does know, remember that he has been earmarked by Voldermort after what happened. If Voldermort is still around, then Harry isn't safe."

"What if Voldermort isn't actually alive, sir?" said Baldrick.

"I think we would know if either was dead. The greatest dark wizard and the saviour of the Wizarding World? We would have been told by someone, even if we had attempted to cut ourselves off completely. Just a feeling." Blackadder weighed his wand in his hand, then directed it at the mantelpiece, where three candles sat.

"Burn for me," he whispered and he waved his wand. At once, the three candles flickered into life, and he smiled.

"Well, it seems that it still works after all this time. What about yours?"

Baldrick waved his wand and muttered an incarnation under his breath; the candles were quickly extinguished, leaving a light trail of vapour spiralling upwards into nothingness.

"Seems so, sir"

"Excellent," said Blackadder, clapping his hands together, his wand pressed between his palms. "That seems to be on working order, although I imagine that we will have to brush up on some of our skills at a later point."

He placed his wand back inside his box and placed it on the coffee table.

"Now Baldrick, you have some packing to do. Enough for four days. And as a treat, you can use magic to help you. We leave at dawn for Diagon Alley and the Wizarding World."

000

"Sir?"

Blackadder blinked quickly and turned to face Baldrick who had now moved from his position on the bench and was stood beside him.

"Yes, Baldrick?"

"It just said over the tanoy that the train for Leeds is going to arrive in three minutes."

"Good," said Blackadder, shivering slightly. "I hope they have bloody heaters on this train, I'm freezing.

"You look like an Eskibo, sir."

"The term Baldrick, is an Eskimo, and no I don't. If I had a large furry hood, I would concede that I looked slightly similar. Otherwise, no."

"OK. I'll try and remember that."

"You better do, or I shall have to hit you again. And believe it or not, I actually do not get a kick out of doing it."

They stood in silence as the wind continued to howl around them. Then, in the distance, the man-made metallic grind of wheels on rails faintly blended in. After a few moments, weak headlights speared through the mist and a two-carriage commuter train slowly groaned its way into the station. The doors shuffled open almost reluctantly and Blackadder and Baldrick quickly hurried inside.

The carriage they had entered was entirely empty. A few empty beer cans and discarded chocolate wrappers were scattered across the two front seats and some chewing gum was stuck to the armrest on another, but otherwise it appeared to be in good condition. The two made their way over to a pair of worn fabric seats where they both sat down across the aisle from each other. The doors shut and Blackadder felt the effect of the train's heating system. It smelt rather like a pair of old socks that had been toasted with marshmallows but the heat, the glorious heat, spread a warmth through him like no other, although a hot chocolate would probably have had a similar effect on him.

He glanced over to Baldrick who was digging himself further into his seat to add extra warmth and had shut his eyes. Blackadder wondered if his dogsbody was asleep and if so, what he would be dreaming about. Although he would never admit it, Blackadder had found himself dreaming of his return to wizarding society, no matter what level, and what he was going to do. He hoped that because he had never officially declared himself persona non grata, he would still be able to have access to his vaults at Gringotts. Following which, he would begin his day with a delicious pint of bitter from the Leaky Cauldron, the finest in the land. Then, it would be down to business and finding young Harry Potter.

He sat back as the train began to slowly move forwards again. A synthesized voice came on over the PA system on the train which announced the various remaining stops before it reached its destination. Blackadder listened with only one ear, and instead focused his gaze on the landscape that was beginning to fly by outside the window. All he could see was a thick white veil that coated the world.

After some time, the train finally reached its destination and Blackadder and Baldrick both departed the train. Leeds had the busiest railway station outside of London in Britain, but as the time approached midday, he found that it was strangely quiet. The two bought tickets from the machine and sandwiches from the on-platform shop before sitting down on another bench to wait for their connection to arrive.

As they were sitting in the station, Blackadder noticed a large green steam engine pulling a train behind it pull into the station, billowing smoke all over. The smell and sight reminded him so much of the Hogwarts Express and took him back to his more youthful years. He watched as excited children with their parents got onto the train, a smartly dressed conductor checking their tickets, waving them on, greeting them warmly. Blackadder could see their happy faces, flushed with excitement, pressed up against the windowpanes, smiling as they looked around at what else was happening. After around five minutes, the conductor at the back of the train blew his whistle, waved his flag, and the engine whistled as it began to steam out of the station. Blackadder watched the carriages disappear from the platform and out into the city before he returned to starring at the announcement board.

He didn't have to wait long. A sleek, modern express swiftly arrived into the station, bearing the electronic header LEEDS-LONDONKX. Blackadder nudged Baldrick and the two stood and entered. They had pre-booked tickets in First Class (Blackadder had every intention of arriving in style) and they sat down opposite each other, a table in the middle. Baldrick procured a brown paper wrapped package from his pocket and handed it over to Blackadder.

"I thought you might like a little something for the journey, sir," he said as he pulled a second, smaller but identically wrapped package from his other pocket. Blackadder unwrapped his and found a new copy of his favourite book in front of him.

"I'm so glad that you're not like your ancestors Baldrick. One might even be tempted to say that you are the ideal modern dogsbody."

"Thank you, Mr. B," said Baldrick grinning as he pulled a small handbook out of his package. He flicked it open to the middle and began to silently read. Blackadder looked out of the window as he heard the whistle blown and the sounding of the horn as the train moved smoothly away.

Soon, he thought to himself. Soon, we will be back where we belong.

And with that thought, he opened his book and began to read.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, now we have introduced our heroic trio of Harry, Blackadder and Baldrick, the stage is set for their first meeting in well over fourteen years. Prepare yourselves; it will be spectacular!


	3. Some Might Say

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or Blackadder. They are owned by JK Rowling and the BBC instead.

* * *

><p>"Harry?"<p>

Harry skidded to a halt as a voice called out from somewhere on the other side of the road. Dressed in a white polo neck shirt, black shorts and a pair of running pumps that had once been Dudley's when he was eleven, he turned his head to try and find the source of the noise. Upon searching, he found a woman he didn't seem to recognize from the opposite side of the road. She had short, closely cropped black hair that was beginning to grey, a rather narrow face with small lips; however, she was grinning mischievously, and Harry knew that grin anywhere. He looked quickly for oncoming traffic, and then sped across the road to where the lady was stood.

"Would you take offence if I said you looked uncannily like a cross between my Aunt Petunia and Snape, only smiling?" he asked as he reached the woman; she took a swipe at him with a small handbag.

"Yes, I would," said the woman in an irritated version of Tonks' voice, although she was still smiling. "I wasn't trying to emulate either of them particularly, but I think this is a new combination I've made now."

"Take it from me, it doesn't suit you," Harry smirked, and he was rewarded with another attack on his side with the handbag; it made contact and he winced slightly. "Didn't hurt as much as I'd expect, that."

"It's because you're bulking up," Tonks pointed out. "Now, if you could learn how to talk to a woman properly, you might get somewhere."

"Well, you're here, so I may as well start on you," Harry replied, winking; he saw a faint blush creep up Tonks' neck and grinned inwardly.

Since he had started his regime, he had been feeling much better. Although he still felt emotional about Sirius at night, he had taught himself that crying would not bring him back; at any rate, Sirius would have wanted him to look to the future rather than linger on the past. As a result, his focus and determination had driven him forward.

It had been on the third day when he had collided with a young, long haired blonde woman whilst coving round the edge of the park. He had apologized profusely and helped her to her feet before continuing onwards, determined, leaving the rather bemuse female behind him. Later that evening, after he had returned home and, for once, made polite conversation with his uncle (who was strangely doing his best to ignore him) about his fitness regime, he had showered, eaten and returned to bed. Then, about eleven o'clock, after the Dursleys had returned to bed, he had slipped into a jumper, and journeyed outside again.

Tonks was waiting for him on the bench in the back garden. She eyed him with a small smile playing around her lips as he approached her. He had received a note via an empty bottle stuck in a bush on his first run, which had simply read:

"_Back in two days. Be there, same place, same time_."

There could only be one person who had written it. Thus, Harry had been looking forward to his meeting with Tonks and had arrived in a rather perky mood, despite the lateness of the hour. He flopped down next to her; she looked at him, still grinning.

"You didn't recognize me earlier, did you?" she asked eventually.

He shook his head. "The blonde woman?"

"Did you like it?"

"To be perfectly honest, I wasn't really paying attention," he offered with an apologetic half-smile. "I was focused."

"Have to blend in," she said, motioning to the pink hair and dragon hide jacket she was currently decked out. "This would look too conspicuous in broad daylight."

"It does in the middle of the night as well," he added, earning himself a playful punch on the arm. "Anyway, why've you dragged me out here in the middle of the night?"

"Because we're both lonely?"

"...Smart thinking, that."

She nodded sagely. "No depressing topics tonight though. I don't want to suffer another breakdown."

Harry bit his lip. "I'd struggle to think of a topic that isn't depressing. My life makes _Neon Genesis Evangelion_ look like a television show for kids."

"Eh?"

"That reference is probably too obscure for you. It's some Japanese programme Dudley watches. It's morbidly dysfunctional."

"Hey, at least you've got friends." She squeezed his hand gently and he gave a smile.

"That's true. But the others don't seem to be writing to me at the moment."

"They're trying Harry, but Dumbledore's told them not to."

A dark expression crossed Harry's face. "He's stopping them? Why?"

"Security. Death Eaters are on the rise again, Harry. There's nothing to stop one of them randomly intercepting a letter meant for you and tracing it back to Ron, Hermione and Neville. That's like putting a sign up next door to Voldermort's house that reads "ALL DEATH EATER SCUM ARE BASTARDS." It's not advisable."

Harry snorted. "He's trying to _control_ me, Tonks. He seems to have too much of an influence over me at the moment."

Tonks looked at him with concern. "He's only doing what he _thinks_ is best for you."

Harry turned and looked Tonks directly in the eye. "If he had told me certain truths, I wouldn't have lost my only remaining family."

Tonks gasped and Harry realized he had possibly overstepped the mark.

"I didn't mean to say that" he hastily added. "Sorry."

He squeezed Tonks' hand back and she lowered her head; for a moment, Harry thought she might cry again, but she raised it with a look of resolute determination, returning his gaze.

"I know it's hard, Harry. I'm trying to make it better for you by visiting, so don't take anything out on me. Please."

"I won't," Harry replied, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Don't worry," she replied, reaching round to give him a hug and resting her head on his shoulder. "Just let's try and stay positive."

They had spent the rest of the night chatting before Tonks had taken Harry back to his room and left him for bed. They had repeated this procedure over the last three nights, and now Harry had encountered her for the first time on one of his runs. He had a feeling that she had been around more than these isolated times, but decided not to raise the question.

"Could you change into someone different?" he asked her. "This appearance is really starting to unnerve me."

She rolled her eyes, and then walked round the corner, behind a bush. After a moment, she appeared again, dressed identically. Now however, she looked much more like the normal Tonks, except with two nose piercings and a mane of long black hair that cascaded down her back, past her thighs, cutting off just before it reached her knees.

Harry wolf whistled and she attempted to hit him for a third time; he stepped to one side and the bag sailed wide of the mark.

"Shut up, you" she said somewhat lamely, smiling. "Whistling like that."

"Hey, being a flirt cheers me up. If I'd known it had been this good, I'd have been doing it for a while now. Fred and George told me I was wasting my time chasing Cho."

"Cho?" Tonks wrinkled her nose slightly; the piercings shifted from side to side. "Didn't she have something to do with the breakup of your secret army or whatever it was?"

"You know perfectly well what it was called," Harry replied, smirking. "And yes. But no major damage came of the DA disbanding. I've been toying with the idea of reforming it with Dumbledore's permission, but I've no idea how many people would want to do it. I didn't think of myself to be a very good teacher."

"I'm sure you're a very good teacher, Harry," said Tonks in a low voice, placing her fingertips on his top over his heart. "In certain departments."

She burst out laughing at the stunned look on Harry's face as he started to blush fiercely. She started to back off as he came towards her, arms outstretched.

"I'm going to make you pay for that," he growled playfully. "Come here!"

She sped off, laughing as he gave chase. Sometimes, Harry wondered why he had missed Tonks as a friend from the very beginning; she was like a hybrid of Ron and Hermione. It was uncanny, but Harry loved it. And so too, apparently, did she, as she stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder and rounded the corner, pulling away into the distance.

Harry grinned to himself. The hunt was on.

000

"Sir? Mr. B?"

"Go away, Baldrick."

"I can't, sir. It's time for you to get up."

"Baldrick, I'm going to count to three. And if you haven't left the room, I'm going to hex you through the wall."

"I wouldn't do that sir; it is a rather expensive hotel."

Blackadder blearily opened one eye and used it to scan his surroundings. The figure of Baldrick dominated the scene, but he could make the rough shape of a window, a mantelpiece and a wardrobe all without straying too far.

"What time is it, Baldrick?"

"Ten to nine, sir."

"Oh, God," he mumbled into his pillow. He opened his other eye and slowly began to move his body round until his legs were overhanging the edge of his bed. He threw the covers off unceremoniously and staggered to his feet.

"Baldrick, if you could please go and-"

"Leave you to get changed, sir?" asked Baldrick as he opened the door to exit the room. "One step ahead of you Mr. B."

"I was actually going to-" began Blackadder, only to realize Baldrick had already left. Staring after his dogsbody for a moment, he shrugged and began to move slowly towards the bathroom.

After he had washed and freshened up, Blackadder opened his wardrobe and studied its contents. Baldrick had insisted on shrinking their luggage so that it had been easier to carry, slipping it into the pockets of his duffle coat, but he had returned it to normal size and filled their wardrobes upon their arrival a few days ago. They had reached London around six o'clock, to find that the mist was finally beginning to give way to a beautiful sunset, that tinted the skyline with an orange and pink blush. Blackadder had been able to unbutton his coat and let it flow in the much desired sinister fashion behind him as he and Baldrick had walked out of King's Cross Station and headed in direction of the Leaky Cauldron in Charring Cross. They had made good time across London on foot and had reached the Leaky Cauldron with ease. Blackadder had held out his arm to stop Baldrick just before they had entered.

"Remember, Baldrick. If anyone asks where we have been, tell them our cover story. Tell them we started a Muggle enterprise in the aftermath of the war, and have been seeking our fortunes elsewhere. I have no intention of saying that we were mercenaries in Iraq and the USSR in the last fifteen years. You never know who might be listening. Hopefully, we can get a pint of Tom's finest here without being noticed." He buttoned his coat up again. "Go on, open the door for me."

Baldrick strode forward, or as well as he could when impeded by his duffle coat, and opened the door for Blackadder. He stepped over the welcome mat and surveyed the run-down pub as Baldrick closed the door quietly behind him.

The Leaky Cauldron was deserted; Blackadder could not even see a single soul around him, bar Baldrick. He had never remembered it being this bad; usually, it had always been bustling, although customers had dwindled during the war. Even then, it was still a highly popular place, where wizards of all kinds met to socialize; where class boundaries were less frowned upon as normal. It hadn't been light or dark; it was not pristine, yet compared to the other haunts of gentlemen in the Alley Complex, it was considerably less disturbing. Blackadder had seen many of those places himself when he had been a young Auror, taking part in shock-and-awe raids against Voldermort. A tinge of nostalgia and regret passed through him as he remembered how he and Sirius had always been the eager new recruits, first onto the scene to fight the Death Eaters in battle.

There came a rustling sound, and the wizened form of Tom the Landlord came up from behind the bar. He looked exactly how Blackadder remembered him, with a shock of thin white hair that was backcombed and several teeth missing. He didn't seem to recognize them as he studied them for a moment before shrugging.

"Can I get any of you lads a drink?" he asked slowly, in a neutral accent; it seemed as if he was trying to surpass the Cockney tongue that was so common around the part of town they were in. "A nice Firewhisky, perhaps?"

"No thank you, Tom," Blackadder replied smoothly as he stepped forward into the guttering light that remained in the pub, throwing his features into relief. Tom gasped at the sight of the man staring at him, dressed in Muggle clothing, with short black curly hair and dark eyes.

"Edmund Blackadder?" he said after a moment. Blackadder nodded and Tom clutched onto the bar for support, as if he was worried of falling over with the shock. "Blimey!"

"Blimey indeed," Blackadder answered as he swept forward imperiously and sat himself on a stool at the bar. Baldrick followed and set himself down next to Blackadder. Tom's eyes widened again at the sight of the dogsbody.

"And Baldrick! Well, blow me over with a feather, I wasn't expecting you two. No-one's heard anything from you in nearly fifteen years! Tell me, what brings you here?"

"Secrets, I'm afraid" Blackadder answered, with an air of practice to the statement. "But since we are her, two pints please of your finest GreenGoblin please."

"Certainly," replied Tom, smiling toothlessly. He waved his hand and at once, all of the candles in the bar reignited. He pulled out two glasses from under the counter and turned to one of several barrels along his back wall. As their drinks were filled, Blackadder turned round and surveyed the Cauldron. Now illuminated, it seemed a much more inviting and warmer place. However, it still did not explain the lack of patrons.

As Baldrick handed over some Muggle money (Blackadder was glad that Tom accepted most currency) he turned back to the barman. "Needless to say, we've been out of wizarding society for quite a while. Pray tell Tom, why is your bar empty? It looks like what happened after the time Baldrick started trying to play a violin made from the pubic hair of a hippogriff."

Tom frowned for a moment. "Have you not heard any news, Edmund?"

"Honestly? I heard that Sirius Black had been killed. I didn't even know that he had escaped Azkaban prison to tell the truth."

"Well, there's some news for you. Black just received a posthumous pardon from the Ministry. One of the last things Fudge did."

"Hang on," Blackadder cut across, holding up a hand as Baldrick listened. "Let's go back a moment. Black was innocent? And Fudge is Minister? He was in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes when I was last here. Did he honestly become Minister for Magic? What about Crouch?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you all the ins and outs if I tried, Edmund, dear boy," Tom sighed. "Regardless, Bagnold retired in 1990 and was replaced by Fudge. He was popular to say the least; except, his stock has fallen so dramatically, he has just resigned before he was forced out by a Vote of No Confidence."

"Why?" questioned Baldrick. Tom looked nervously over his shoulder, as if he was expecting someone to be there, before turning and beckoning the pair closer.

"You-Know-Who is back," he whispered to them.

Baldrick nearly knocked over his drink. Blackadder went one better and knocked it over for him.

"He's _back_?"

"For a year, if Dumbledore's to be believed," Tom said, sighing. "Apparently came back last year. No-one knows how. Young Harry Potter saw him. Fudge refused to accept it and it wasn't until Voldermort broke into the Ministry and battled against Dumbledore that anyone took any notice."

"Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, he was there too with some friends. Anyway, Sirius Black was killed in this battle, and a subsequent investigation found him not guilty."

"Wasn't he in Azkaban though?" Baldrick interjected as he righted his glass and tried to see if he could salvage any of the drink. "I thought you couldn't break out?"

"Well Black did. Been on the run for three years before he was killed."

Edmund looked solemn for a moment. "The Muggle papers say he was killed by police."

"Police? Isn't that a band?" asked Baldrick, who earned himself a smack over the head by Blackadder.

"No, killed by Ministry personal, or so the story goes. On the premises. It didn't help Fudge's case, which is why he is on the way out."

Blackadder took a sip of his drink whilst Baldrick gave it a mournful look. "So who's in line to replace him?"

Tom looked Blackadder straight in the eye. "We may as well give the Ministry straight to Voldermort. It's Lord Melchett."

This time, it was Blackadder's turn to knock over his drink. Not only that, he spat out his mouthful which hit Baldrick directly in the face.

"Melchett?" he said, aghast. "That man couldn't find his own bottom with a Tracking Charm on it!"

"Exactly," Tom said with a grim expression. "The Wizarding World will never be the same again after this. If You-Know-Who is back, then we are going down faster than the Titanic."

"The one attempt wizards made at building a boat," mused Blackadder, sidetracked for a moment. "My grandfather helped charm it. Probably why it sank. Hand his wand broken and he joined the Muggle army. He got killed in the First World War. But regardless, does this mean he's got an army again as well?"

"Building, I guess," Tom answered. "Earlier in the year, the Dementors abandoned Azkaban; probably joined You-Know-Who, along with all of the escaped Death Eaters, like Bellatrix Lestrange."

Blackadder's eyes went cold. Tom suddenly realized what he had said.

"Oh, I'm sorry Edmund. I didn't mean to, it just–"

"Slipped out," Blackadder finished curtly. His eyes unfocused slightly, then returned in their warmth as he patted Tom's hand. "It's fine Tom, it just brings back bad memories for me. But Azkaban fell?"

"We still own it, with Auror guards. But the Aurors are going to get decimated if You-Know-Who picks up. Amelia Bones just died recently. And that's not all; attacks in Wolverhampton, collapsing suspension bridges, a ferry got sank on the way to the Isle of Skye –"

"I've seen all of these in the Muggle news," Blackadder said, rubbing his eyes with a free hand. "Natural disasters, safety guidelines not met; I bet the Obliviators are having a nightmare."

"Are you going to rejoin then?" asked Tom.

Blackadder looked at him confusedly. "What?"

"You mean as in rejoin the Aurors?" Baldrick interjected.

"Yes," said Tom as he filled up two more glasses for the pair. "If you're staying, that is. They'll be looking for qualified recruits where they can. Melchett may be an idiot, but he won't make the same mistake Fudge did by feigning ignorance to the increase in attacks. Bones was widely tipped for the position before she was killed, and he knows it. He's got to hold the country together."

"Wish I had the same confidence in him that the system does," Blackadder muttered. "But rejoining... I hadn't really given any thought to the idea. But I admit it appeals to me. Especially if I could somehow get a more senior position."

"Blackmail, sir?" Baldrick whispered as Tom turned away to pick up a dirty rag to wipe the bar surface.

"You noticed the glint in my eye again, didn't you Baldrick?"

"Yes, sir."

They had finished their drinks, engaged in more conversation with Tom, and eventually left into Diagon Alley. The sun had fully set now; they had spent a good few hours drinking and discussing with the barman.

"One of the good things about Gringotts," remarked Blackadder as he marched down the empty street, illuminated only by dusty lamps hanging from shops, "Is that it is open twenty-four seven. Goblins rarely sleep; they are too paranoid for that, so we will be able to get our gold tonight."

"Sir? Where are the Daily Prophet headquarters?" asked Baldrick as he hurried along next to the long-legged Edmund, who was able to make almost inhuman strides with his gangly frame.

"Somewhere off the main Alley if I remember correctly," Blackadder replied, studying the various shop windows as he passed them; he came to a halt in front of one which had a huge flashing purple poster plastered all over it, with its bright yellow lettering providing more light than the rest of the street combined.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" he remarked, with a small smile creeping across his face. "I bet you a Galleon that this shop is owned by those twins of Arthur and Molly's, Baldrick. They were little jokers when they were still in their cots. It wouldn't surprise me if they still were today."

They started moving again towards the massive marble structure of Gringotts. Two Goblins stood as security at the doors, holding large battle-axes crossed against each other, forming a barrier. As Blackadder and Baldrick approached, they stood rigidly and raised the axes; the doors swung inwards of their own accord and the pair crossed the threshold swiftly into the magnificent halls of gold.

Half an hour, and a terse discussion with several goblins, later, Blackadder had managed to transfer a huge sum of his Muggle wealth into his Gringotts vault; as a gesture, he had also deposited a smaller sum in Baldrick's, in case he required to buy himself a new mop. With gold in hand, they had journey to the Purple Serpent, the most exclusive and expensive hotel in Diagon Alley; Blackadder had only stayed once before, but he vividly remembered it as a tasteful blending of wizard and Muggle elegance, an area that would satisfy his needs adequately.

That was how he found himself, in the Purple Serpent's most expensive suite, in the morning, looking into the large mirror which he was ignoring as it passed a rather harsh judgement on his state of undress. He headed into the bathroom and exited some time afterwards, freshened up and ready to hunt down his quarry for the day. He gave the ornate room a sweeping glance, then slipped his long black coat on and slipped out of the door, closing it gently behind him.

Baldrick was hovering in the lobby as Blackadder descended the carpeted staircase towards the foyer. He nodded to their dogsbody, and they briskly walked side by side, out into the main Alley. They headed towards a small offshoot, between a wizardwear boutique and a cauldron store, a dead end obscured in darkness, enough to avoid prying eyes. They weren't taking any chances; there may have been nobody around in the Alley but Blackadder knew that as soon as his name came out into the open, he would have the Ministry and the Order baying after him. He wanted to stay as low-key as possible.

This was why Baldrick, the surprisingly better of the two at transfiguration, had altered their appearances. Gone were Blackadder's dark short curls, replaced by long flowing blonde tresses, something akin to the style of Lucius Malfoy. His face was longer and narrower, his nose had been reduced substantially and he had three weeks worth of stubble on his chin. Baldrick looked no different, but that was because no-one would recognize him or give him a second glance.

Blackadder produced his wand and muttered under his breath. The alley became even darker as it closed itself off at the end, leaving only a dim grey light from the clouded sky above.

"Sir?" asked Baldrick as Blackadder reached inside his coat and produced a small piece of apparently blank parchment.

"Yes, Baldrick?"

"How exactly are we going to find Remus? I mean, if he's with the Order, he'll be under Fidelius, won't he?"

"Don't worry about that, Baldrick," Blackadder replied as he tapped his and to the parchment; words began to materialize in a dark blue ink. "I picked this information up from some of the...seedier patrons of Knockturn Alley last night, when I said I was nipping out to buy a pipe and a pair of washing up gloves."

"But you came back with a pipe and a pair of washing up gloves, sir."

"Yes, I did. I didn't say it was an excuse, did I? Now, hold onto this parchment."

Baldrick took hold of the parchment, and looked at Blackadder. "Is this it then, sir? Is this the beginning of a whole new adventure?"

Blackadder gave a roguish grin. "It is indeed Baldrick. Let's just hope we make it to the end alive."

And with that, they both felt a tug behind the navel and vanished from the spot.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm back! Firstly, I'd like to apologise a ridiculous amount to all the people I've let down with this story. It started well over nine months ago, and hasn't been updated in nearly six, I think. A combination of dissatisfaction with the project, writers block, exams, holidays, loss of creativity, my personal life and a lot of other stuff meant that this little gem has been sidelined for far too long. The good news is, I've finally got round to posting another chapter! The bad news is, the next one probably won't even make an appearence before Christmas, although if I get everything sorted, expect it before Halloween. To all those who favourited/followed this story, I thank you loads. And to the single reviewer I have, I thank you even more. Reviews are much appriciated; no flame please, but constructive criticism is something I could probably do with. So, to all out there, hope you enjoyed this one! Next time, Blackadder meets Remus, Harry recieves a visitor and Dumbledore begins to get worried! So, stay tuned!


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